


before i fall

by iwritetrash



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Edward deserves better, Edward gets stuck reliving the 25th Jan on repeat, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts (very briefly mentioned), Time Loop, Unhappy ending uhhh, before i fall au, in honour of the anniversary of his death, poor Edward - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 09:44:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13478802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwritetrash/pseuds/iwritetrash
Summary: Edward Drummond finds himself stuck in a time loop, with no idea of how on earth he is supposed to escape it.





	before i fall

**Author's Note:**

> hey so it's 175 years since Edward Drummond died and I wrote this lil fic as a celebration of that day... 
> 
> it's kinda sad, bc it's the day of his death so i didn't feel like i could end it on too happy a note... 
> 
> (also i borrowed the title from the film/book that inspired this)
> 
> enjoy, i guess?

Edward Drummond wakes up on the morning of the 25th of January at 6.52am precisely, to the sound of his housekeeper knocking loudly on his bedroom door. Three sharp knocks, and then a call of his name. His eyes feel a little tender and swollen, and the skin of his cheeks is tight. He had dreamt of Alfred.

He sits up in bed and runs a hand over his face and through his hair, before getting up and stumbling to his wardrobe to get dressed. There is to be another day of debating on the Corn Laws today, and he has a meeting with Peel before then, so he ought to arrive as soon as possible, but his hands skim over blue fabric and his mind summons up images of Alfred again. He plucks the waistcoat from the wardrobe.

When he arrives at Peel’s lodgings, it becomes clear to him immediately that the Prime Minister has not had much sleep. That makes two of them, then. They draw up plans for the day, new arguments to try and sway the other men in the house, plans to ensure that the bell rings today and a vote is taken. 

Shortly after he enters the house, a letter arrives for him. Alfred’s handwriting is unmistakable on the envelope. There is a small spot of ink in the top-left corner, a smudged thumbprint on the right, and an extra flourish on Edward’s name which makes him smile.

He wants to meet for dinner, to apologise. Edward is experienced enough in reading between the lines to see what he truly means. He smiles for the first time since he and Alfred parted ways at Ciros several nights ago.

The debate is a success, and Edward leaves at Peel’s side, practically giddy with excitement, both for the repeal and for his imminent meeting with Alfred. Perhaps that is why he doesn’t see the gun until it is too late to warn anyone. Without thinking, he throws himself in front of it, and is met with searing agony in his chest, falling backwards to the ground and watching the world turn dark. He thinks he can hear someone screaming his name.

All Edward wants is to tell someone they need to find Alfred, and tell him what happened, and tell him he was coming, and tell him all is well between them. 

Everything goes black.

~

Three sharp knocks on his bedroom door, and a call of his name, jolt Edward awake. He sits bolt upright in bed, breathing heavily, eyes sore, cheeks tight. He lifts his nightshirt and inspects his chest for a bullet wound, stares incredulously at the clear, empty skin, and drops his shirt again.

The clock reads 6.53am now, and Edward remembers he has plans for the day. That had certainly been a horrific nightmare, he muses, as he washes his face and then dresses for the day. He picks out the blue silk waistcoat with some hesitancy, before reminding himself it was nothing more than a peculiar dream.

When he meets with Peel, he feels as though he is reading from a script he has half-learned the lines to. It is peculiar to say the least, but, again, he brushes it off. It is not until he receives Alfred’s letter in that same, neat cursive, with the same spot of ink, the same smudged thumbprint, and the same flourish, that his certainty begins to crumble.

This time, when they leave the house, Edward is on guard, watching and waiting, until he spots the man who shot last time, and has both himself and Peel on the ground by the time the gun is raised. Policemen tackle the man immediately, as members of the crowd help them both to their feet. 

Peel chuckles and claps Edward on the back, and thanks him for saving his life. Edward brushes off the compliment, because he can’t help but shake the feeling that something is _wrong_ here.

Edward goes to meet Alfred, but when he arrives he is told that Alfred had left some twenty minutes ago. Edward checks the time. It is nearing midnight now; he supposes Alfred had thought he wasn’t coming.

He goes home to bed, and falls asleep with tears in his eyes. 

~

Three sharp knocks on his bedroom door yet again. Is it possible that this is another repeat? His clock reads 6.52am. Well, if he must relive this day again, then perhaps he can afford to be a little late. 

In fact, he decides not to go at all. He writes Peel a note informing him that he is quite under the weather, and then dresses – not in the blue this time, but in a deep burgundy – and goes straight to Alfred’s home. He knows he must look like a madman, hurrying through the streets in a state of disarray, but it feels absolutely imperative to him that he arrive as soon as possible. 

When he eventually finds himself at Alfred’s door, he wonders what on earth he will say to him. If he is correct, Alfred will have no memory of the last two days he has lived, and he will have no memory of having written a letter asking to meet. Perhaps Edward ought to confess the truth. Alfred might think him mad, of course, but it would be nice to confide in someone, even if he forgets it all by the next time Edward wakes.

Alfred’s housekeeper opens the door and lets him in, ushering him to a quaint drawing room and assuring him that Alfred will be with him presently.

The shocked look on Alfred’s face to see Edward pacing the length of the room when he enters is enough to assure him of Alfred’s ignorance. He confides, at length, his tale thus far, much to Alfred’s horror.

At first he thinks it a joke, until he sees the tragic seriousness in Edward’s expression and realises it is all quite true. It is Alfred’s turn to pace, to start frantically coming up with solutions which might prevent the problem from continuing to occur. It is impossible, however, since Edward can’t even begin to fathom the criteria for the repetition of this day.

In the end, Edward asks him to stop. It is hopeless, he says, when they know so little. It is at that precise moment that a servant hurries into the room with the news that the Prime Minister has been shot. Edward’s heart stutters and skips a beat. He had not been there to protect Sir Robert, and this was the consequence. Alfred senses Edward’s move and dismisses the servant quickly.

It is only when they are alone that Edward begins to cry, collapsing into Alfred, because he could have prevented this, and what if this time the day doesn’t reset? At some point Edward falls asleep, and he must have slept past midnight, because he wakes up to the sound of three sharp knocks and breathes a sigh of relief. 

~

Having realised the days weren’t planning on going back to normal sometime in the immediate future, Edward decides to play around with scenarios. Some days he visits Alfred and tells him the truth, and on others he goes simply to make amends. Some days he tries to create a day where things might stand a chance of resetting, but there always seems to be something wrong. He’s tried running away with Alfred, only to wake up back in his own bed; he’s tried sprinting to Ciros after saving both Peel and himself only to find that Alfred is always gone before he arrives; he’s tried breaking off his engagement with Florence; he’s tried locking himself away all day long, only to find that Peel still dies, and the day resets. 

One day he invites Alfred to come to the House of Commons with him and meet him outside, but that scenario ends worse than all the others: Alfred is shot. Fatally.

The day after that, Edward decides that, if this is how things are going to be, he may as well have some fun. He storms through the streets dressed only in his night clothes, and arrives at Alfred’s home looking somewhat worse for wear. He is surprised nobody has arrested him yet, because he knows for a fact that he looks like a lunatic. 

When Alfred comes to meet him, Edward kisses him immediately, and begs Alfred to take him to bed. Alfred will not remember this tomorrow, Edward knows that, and perhaps that is why he starts crying halfway through. Because he loves Alfred, and because he wants to be with him, and because he wants this all to stop, but he doesn’t know how to make that happen.

He curls up next to Alfred that night, nothing but sheets between their bare skin, and tells Alfred he hopes they’re still together in the morning. Alfred laughs, and asks why on earth they wouldn’t be. He doesn’t know.

Edward wakes up to three sharp knocks and feels a tear roll down his cheek. 

~ 

Here is what Edward knows:

  1. If he is not with Peel when they leave the House of Commons, Peel dies. The day begins again.
  2. If he does not speak to Alfred and make amends, the day begins again.
  3. He cannot possibly make it to dinner in time to meet Alfred and be with Peel at the House of Commons.
  4. There is no possible way to postpone the vote. It will happen on this day.
  5. If Edward tries to run, he wakes up again in his own bed and the day begins again.



Here is what he thinks must happen:

  1. He must go to the House of Commons and sit through the debate and the vote as planned.
  2. He must send Alfred a response assuring him of his intentions to go to dinner, and of his forgiveness.
  3. He must save Peel and himself, and then go to Alfred.



This, he is certain is the way out. This is the solution, he is sure of it.

He is wrong.

The day begins again.

~

Eventually he tires of playing out scenarios, of living the same awful day over and over again, of being shot, of those three sharp knocks. It gets so bad that one morning he wakes up and finds that those three knocks drive him so insane that he grabs the pistol by his bed and pushes it between his lips.

He cannot do it. 

What if this is the one that sticks?

It dawns on him then what he has to do, what he has been doing wrong every time since the very first.

He goes about the day as he should. He wears the blue waistcoat, he meets with Peel, he gets the letter from Alfred, he sends the perfect reply, already drafted and in his pocket, he sits through the debate, he watches the vote, and, when they leave the House, his heart starts pounding in his chest, because he knows what he has to do.

When Daniel M’Naghten pulls out his pistol, Edward pushes himself in front of Peel and in front of the bullet, because the only way this ends is if he dies, and he doesn’t know why that is, but it’s the only variable he hasn’t tested, and this time he knows the truth. He has made his amends, he has done his best to leave behind some closure for those who need it.

It is not so hard to find courage in that moment, when it all boils down to it. He simply pictures Alfred’s face, as he steps in front of the bullet, and tells himself they’ll be able to be together one day, maybe in the afterlife.

The bullet hits his chest, and he recognises the same pain he felt that first time, as it ricochets through his body. Someone is screaming his name, and this time he is listening for it, and he thinks it is Sir Robert. There’s a new voice, too, one that hadn’t been there the first time.

Alfred.

Edward doesn’t want him to see this, doesn’t want him to remember him this way, but it’s too late. Alfred’s hand slips into his, squeezing tightly.

_Goodbye,_ Edward manages to choke out. There is more he wants to say, but he hasn’t the time, and there are far too many spectators.

Everything goes black, and, this time, it stays that way.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! let me know in the comments if you liked it! <3


End file.
